


His Green Leather Jacket (and how they came to be)

by LilyintheSkywithDiamonds



Series: His Green Leather Jacket [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:34:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23107819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyintheSkywithDiamonds/pseuds/LilyintheSkywithDiamonds
Summary: He said something that made her laugh.She said his name like it was a prayer.They were students, friends, lovers -maybe even meant-to-be, who the hell knew. Eventually, they became soldiers.A Green Leather Jacket prequel.
Relationships: Angelina Johnson/George Weasley, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley
Series: His Green Leather Jacket [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1149776
Kudos: 9





	1. Third Year // Fifth Year

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back to the Green Leather Jacket series - it's been a while.  
> It's going to be a long ride so, buckle up people!  
> As always, please leave kudos and comments and never ever shy away from pointing any grammar or spelling mistakes. I am not a native English speaker and hence can use all the help you can give.  
> Thank you for sticking with me,  
> and I sure hope you will like this.  
> See you soon,  
> Lily

With Black on the loose, Ron and Harry's lack of self-preservation, her studies and her boys' avoiding her, Hermione Granger feels a tad overwhelmed and incredibly lonely.

Hence why Fred Weasley has made it his life mission to see her smile. 


	2. I. The beginning

**I. The Beginning**

Hidden behind her book, she listened to Professor McGonagall take the Firebolt from Harry. She knew, deep down, that telling Professor McGonagall about the broom was the logical, safe and overall right thing to do but she could not help the slight feeling of guilt as she heard Harry's trembling voice defending his new, state-of-the-art broom while Ron's ears were starting to turn red. 

If Harry was still glued to his chair, Ron's first instinct when the professor left was to turn towards Hermione.

" _Why did you tell everything to McGonagall ?_ "

Was he out of his mind? How could he not see how dangerous that broom could have turned out to be? He was Harry Potter's best friend, for Merlin's sake, the boy practically begged for danger to come and knock at his door. All feelings of guilt pushed aside, her indignation took the best of her as she answered Ron.

"Because I thought -and Professor McGonagall agreed with me- that the broom had probably been sent to Harry by Sirius Black!"

* * *

She spent the next few days avoiding the common room, taking refuge in the library. The boys did not come looking for her and she did not try to apologise. _I am being careful,_ she thought. _I am preserving my best friend's life._

It was lonely, to live that way. She thought maybe it would not be too hard to get accustomed to, surrounded by all her books and fascinating subjects, taking full advantage of the few days of peace of quiet she had left until the other students came back. Besides, Harry's skull might be thick, but if the broom had truly been cursed, then he would have to thank her -and if she had been wrong, he would have his broom back and would realise she had acted out of love. Or at least that was what she told herself at night when she snuck back into the common room and her dormitory, slipping under her covers well past eleven to be sure she would not bump into the boys. 

The other students came back a few days after New Year's and soon enough, Gryffindor Tower was just as busy and joyful as it had always been. Hermione found that if she stayed on the other end of the common room, Ron and Harry would not notice her. Sometimes she thought Harry was looking at her, but he never reached out to her and they never locked eyes, so she stayed away from them and they could pretend she did not exist. The small table she now occupied was too far away from the fireplace to benefit from the heat, so she had to wear another layer of clothes, and the light was dimmer on this side. It was quiet enough, she supposed, that she could have some work done after library hours. The day before classes began again, she noticed Harry and Woods talking. She could not make out what they were seeing, but the only thing on Woods' mind was Quidditch and, judging from how pale he looked before leaving, she guessed he had learned about the Firebolt. 

She needed to go to sleep. 

She was exhausted from all her extra classes and needed to rest before going back to her hectic schedule and she needed to check her theory about Professor Lupin, she might decide to go to the library to read on the subject during Divination, stay safely tucked in her little corner through Potions too, before going to the Great Hall -she made a mental note to look up the lunar phases, specifically for Christmas evening- and she also needed to stay ahead of the program in Arithmetics, that was catching up to her, and maybe even borrow a few books to read before bed, deepen her knowledge before she would need to rush through the material for the exams...

Yes, she needed to go to sleep. 

She would not, but she needed to. Now that she thought about it, she did have her Arithmetics textbook in her bag. If she was lucky, other Gryffindors might be reasonable and get to bed earlier than usual before the classes would begin again the day after. She doubted it, but those that would stay would be quiet; she could already see a few students rushing to finish assignments and others yawning. She opened her textbook and began reading, holding back her tears when the boys passed her and went to bed without a word for her.

She intended to leave just then, closing her book in a sharper way than originally intended, but her plans were thwarted as she eyed a first-year batting his wand repetitively at a teacup. He reminded her of Ron, in a way, not bothering to do the proper wand movement and simply hoping his intentions would make the magic work by itself; she spent the next half-hour going through the correct motion step by step, giving him a full explanation as to why intention only would not suffice and cheering him up when he tried to give up after only ten minutes. She let him go to bed once the teacup had become a rather satisfying quill.

When he did, she moved her bag and textbooks to her favourite armchair next to the fireplace -even though the hearth only hosted ashes now- and began her reading. 

She read for a good hour before spiralling. It did not happen often, but in moments like this one when she felt particularly alone, she found herself in overwhelmed corners of her mind, where her thoughts were utterly out of her control. Most of the times, she could decide to quiet them or put them in the back of her mind, she could decide to not listen to the thoughts at least. Right now, in the empty common room, at one in the morning, her eyes ready to drop out of her skull because of tiredness, she found she did not have the strength to ignore them. And so she began spiralling.

It was all her fault. She did not need to meddle with the Firebolt, why did she feel so entitled to give her opinion on everything, every time? Why was she so paranoiac? The boys were right, there was probably nothing wrong with the Firebolt, it was a highly functioning broom that cost way too much for an on-the-run, Azkaban fugitive anyway. Sirius Black could have never afforded it -still, he could have stolen it- but then again, could he walk into a shop and steal something with so much value? There was no reason to believe Sirius Black had sent it -well except for the fact that the man was a highly intelligent wizard who wanted Harry dead. And Harry! Oh, Harry, her best friend, one of her only friend, really, and here she went, ruining it all! That was what she had always done best anyway: ruining her friendships by simply being her overachiever, overthinking, overprotective, overall over-self -and was that even a word? Over-self? Harry might forgive her, in the future, but not Ron. For Merlin's sake, Ron was insufferable when he decided to. He had been from the beginning, mocking her in the hallways and sending her crying whenever he could. It had been a tad worse this year, with Scabbers and Crookshanks and whatever he felt he needed to blame on her, but Hermione guessed that it would have been hard for him to be insufferable throughout her second year seeing as she spent most of that petrified. 

Hermione felt a tear on her cheek - _no, I will not be crying over these two stupid boys_ \- and before she realised it, a flow of tears was falling. She was exhausted, on edge, and even though crying had never solved a problem, it always released some pressure. 

The Fat Lady portrait opened, a student quietly entering the common room while said Fat Lady chastised him for interrupting her sleep. Hermione did not see him enter, her vision blurry and fixated on the ashes. 

* * *

Fred Weasley had had trouble sleeping. He usually slept well, never needed more than twenty minutes to fall into a deep slumber, but not tonight. Tonight, for some reason, Lee's light snoring was bothering him, even though he had been suffering from it for five years now. Suffered might not exactly be the best word to describe it -as previously mentioned, the snoring was light and had never bothered him before. 

Maybe he needed some hot milk or, even better, a hot chocolate. Some snacks would be nice, too. So he grabbed the Marauder's Map, went to the kitchen, conversed with House Elf for far longer than he expected, packed some snacks that no one would miss, had to do an overly large detour to avoid Filch and then Mrs Norris, and then -finally- tried to wake the Fat Lady up. He did tease her for a bit, saying she did not need the beauty sleep as bad as she thought she did, and how could she deny the entrance to her favourite Gryffindor -no, no need, I will gladly keep your secret, won't even pipe a word to my twin-, but eventually simply thanked her when she let him in. 

Naturally, he thought the common room would be deserted; it was, after all, one in the morning. Except it was not completely, absolutely deserted. Someone was sobbing, a slump in an armchair in front of the fireplace. Someone he vaguely recognised, probably someone he knew but could not quite make out under all the curly brown hair. For a moment, he wondered if he should talk to the girl -he thought it might have been Hermione Granger, but in the almost three years he knew her, he had yet to see her cry- or if he should let her alone. Well, he had snacks, didn't he? And way too much for just one person, at that. _The girl needs a shoulder to cry on, someone to drop all of her sorrows on._ He could do that.

He sat on the couch next to her, awkwardly putting his hand on her shoulders. She jerked, oblivious to his presence until then, and her sad hazel eyes widened in recognition. 

It was, in fact, Hermione Granger. 

"Fred?"

"I'm George, actually," he said. That was a lie -he was Fred, he knew which twin he was-, but he wondered if Hermione was a lucky witch who had guessed right or if she could tell them apart. She lightly shook her head while gathering her books and parchments, stuffing them hastily in her bag. He wondered if he should stop her. 

"Nice try, Fred."

The truth was out: Hermione Granger could tell the Weasley twins apart. Because they rarely spent any time separated and never had prolongated conversations with the girl, he could not pinpoint the moment she learned how to differentiate them. If he asked George, he was sure they could think about a couple of occasions she called them by their correct names, but he never noticed before. She tied her hair in a bun and grabbed her bag's handle. 

"How do you know I'm Fred?"

He hoped, for no particular reason whatsoever, that he could persuade her into talking to him. He convinced himself it was because she needed it but, to be honest, he was still in no mood to sleep and could use the company. She released the handle and got more comfortable in her armchair, her cheeks a tad flushed.

"Well, it's little things, really." She fidgeted slightly before continuing, "The way you stand, how you approach people... Besides, I've always loved a challenge, and even though it's taken me a while I've been able to know you're Fred and he's George for two years now; don't even have to try anymore."

"Do tell, Granger, what is it with the way I stand that is different?"

She snickered. "I won't say. I may not know you that much, but even I can tell that you would do anything to resemble him a bit more. Might even laugh if I suddenly got confused."

"I would not."

"Try to resemble George? Please, not to me."

"Laugh at your expense, I meant."

They stayed in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes, Hermione snuggling further into her armchair and Fred laying down on his back. He did not want to break the silence, appreciating the turmoil of thoughts inside his head and the dimmed lights.

"All my apologies for putting salt on a fresh wound, young lady, but may I inquire about the reasons for your previous sadness?" 

She chuckled, his fake posh accent not masking his genuine interest. 

Well, that was a first. A genuine interest in her feelings -she had not experienced that with anyone else than her parents. Harry, sometimes, would ask her how she felt, but even though she knew she could be honest, she never wanted to add more on his already heavy plate. 

"Ron and Harry are angry with me, I'm afraid. I'm sure if I told you why you side with them," she started. His eyes sparkled and he encouraged her to tell the whole story.

And so she did. He, of course, was livid when she mentioned the Firebolt, but he was the first one to comfort her.

"You did it for his safety, even I can see that. So don't you worry, Hermi-pretty, he'll come around. Eventually."

That night, even if neither of them knew it just yet, they both gained one of the most precious relationships they could have ever dreamed of. And it was just the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at ending my chapters, so sorry for that bland end of chapter.   
> I really hope you liked it, and I really hope everyone is safe and healthy in those difficult times. France is in quarantine right now, but I'm unsure if I can write more than usual (I still have school and I have to babysit all three of my sisters.)  
> Please leave kudos and comments if you liked, I absolutely do take constructive criticism and love to hear what you have to say.  
> Be well,   
> Lily.


End file.
